Stormy Weather
by Sugarbear1975
Summary: A medical emergency leaves McCormick battling for his life at home alone while a storm rages and the Judge is out of town. Help arrives from an unlikely source but will it be enough to save him?


"Stormy Weather"

_This is my first attempt at fan fiction, so please take that into consideration as you read this story. I wanted to focus on the tenuous relationship between Mark, Hardcastle and Sonny and I finally committed my thoughts to words. Thoughts are italicized, unless otherwise noted, for simplicity. The story takes place after the episodes "McCormick's Bar & Grill" and "If You Could See What I See", one of my favorite episodes. There are also references to other episodes such as "Rolling Thunder" and "Ties My Father Sold Me". I tried to stay true to the characters as much as possible and H&M canon. The characters Gladys, Chester McCoy, Mrs. Baker, Uncle Dave and Dr. Tania Gardner are mine but sadly McCormick, Judge Milton C. Hardcastle, Sonny Daye and Frank Harper are not. This story is purely for entertainment purposes and I will not make a dime from it. Read and enjoy! _

**March 1986**

"McCormick!" Judge Milton C. Hardcastle bellowed so loudly that the windows in his palatial home located on the estate known as Gulls Way in Malibu, CA rattled in response. Even the birds in the bushes outside his den fluttered their wings and scattered toward the early morning sky. However, the object of his shout was M.I.A. The Judge continued to stomp through his home, his twinkling blue eyes betraying the snarl on his face as he searched for his lucky hat that he always wore when he went on his annual fishing trip to a sleepy little town in northern California appropriately named Pacific Grove. The very name of the city placed him into a peaceful state of mind, for a few minutes, anyway. Not to be ignored, he grabbed at the doorknob of the solid mahogany front door and charged toward the gatehouse that was currently occupied by "Skid" Mark McCormick. McCormick, an ex-race car driver and an ex-con with a penchant for hotwiring cars and other stealthy crimes was paroled into Judge Hardcastle's custody about two and a half years ago to help the young man reform and become a respectable and productive member of society. Some of that reformation process included maintaining the landscape of the 20-acre estate, housekeeping and chasing the bad guys that slipped through the cracks of the justice system while Judge Hardcastle sat on the bench of the Los Angeles Superior Court. Although he retired the same day he took McCormick into his custody and into his home, Hardcastle's desire to make the guilty pay for their crimes remained ever present.

The desire for his beloved lucky hat burned just as deeply in his heart and with that in mind he snatched the door of the gatehouse open and trudged up the stairs of the loft where a still sleeping McCormick was curled up in a ball under the covers. Hardcastle walked toward the bed and saw the dark blond curls peeking out from under the quilt that the late Mrs. Hardcastle had made so many years ago. He hesitated for just a beat to take in the touching sight but quickly pulled himself back to the moment and abruptly dragged the covers from the snoozing ex-con.

"McCormick!"

A bleary-eyed Mark rubbed a blue eye with the heel of his palm and whined "_Juudge_, do you know what time it is?"

He looked at his alarm clock and sighed. 6:23 a.m. Way too early to be rousted out of bed. Mark knew what brought the Judge over to drag him from the land of Nod and back to his new life outside of San Quentin: that damned hat!

"Have you found my lucky hat yet?" the Judge shouted without so much as a "good morning".

Mark sat up and with a twinkle in his eye stated calmly, "it's on your head, your Honor." He then took one of his pillows and tossed it at Hardcastle's head and took the other and placed it over his own head as he lay back down to try to return to his dream of winning the Indy 500.

"I don't have time for you to catch up on your beauty sleep here, Kiddo. You know I'm leaving in an hour to go on my fishing trip and I have a whole list of chores for you to get done while I'm away! Now you know the pool needs to be cleaned, the rose bushes need fertilizing and the fountain needs—"

Mark sat up ramrod straight in the bed and interrupted the Judge's tirade and with a "yeah, yeah, yeah, Hardcase. I know, I know. You've given me enough to do to keep me out of trouble. In fact, you've given me enough to do to keep me busy until my "indefinite" parole is over! Would you just relax? I'm going to get started on my chores in a little while. Besides, you're only going to be gone until Sunday night. What can go wrong in two days?"

"Is that a rhetorical question, Kiddo, because I do have some possible scenarios for you?"

"Judge, I'll tell you what: I'm going to get up right now and HELP you pack so that we _both_ can get on with our weekend!"

"Ok, wise guy, but that list better be done or else you'll be back in San Quentin in time for lights out!" With that statement, the Judge ended the discussion and shook a fist attached to a muscular, tattooed arm at McCormick and stomped back down the stairs and out the front door and headed toward the garage to gather the last of the supplies he would need for his trip.

Mark chuckled to himself and shook his head as he pulled his jeans over his slender hips and hopped around on one foot putting on his socks to get ready to help the Judge pack. After two and a half years, Mark became immune to Hardcastle's threat of his being returned to "The House of Many Doors" as the Judge liked to refer to it. Mark simply thought of it as Hell. However, Mark knew that that old donkey would have no problem escorting him to the police station **personally** if he ever did step over the line and return to his old criminal habits. Oh sure, he had committed the occasional B&E while in the Judge's custody, but that was different. Those little midnight forays often meant the difference between a scumbag being caught dead to rights and being able to escape justice. Hardcastle knew about those jaunts over fences, past security guards and vicious attack dogs in the wee hours of the night but if the evidence was crucial to a case, he could look past an indiscretion, every now and then.

Finally, the judge was packed and ready to set out on his journey that was five and a half hours north of Malibu: just enough of a distance to allow Mark to breathe a sigh of relief as he saw the taillights of the GMC pickup truck grow smaller as he left the grounds of the estate. He shook his head and chuckled again as he thought of the Judge's parting words, "Don't screw up my prize rose bushes, McCormick!" With those sage words in mind, he started out toward the gardener's trailer to pull out the tools he would need to get the monumental task of working on landscaping "the back 40" underway. On his way to the trailer, Mark felt a sharp pain his abdomen that made him stop in his tracks. He rubbed his belly and waited for the pain to subside, which did a few seconds later. He puzzled to himself and thought, "That's odd. I've never felt that before. Maybe it's because I skipped breakfast, but strangely enough, I'm not hungry. Oh well, I'll eat after I trim the hedges."

The day went by pretty quickly for Mark, knocking about three of the 30 things that Hardcastle had on his "Kid-Do list." Before he knew it, the sun was starting to lower itself into the horizon over the ocean, which was about 25 feet below the edge of the estate. Mark paused and watched the sun sink lower and lower until it disappeared from sight. He never tired of seeing that. After so many stints in and out of various incarceration facilities, it was so refreshing to just stand and marvel at something as spectacular as a sunset. He tore himself away from the wonder of it all and checked his watch: 7:56 p.m.! Ironically, he actually enjoyed every minute of the labor-intensive duties of grounds maintenance, except for the times where the pain in his abdomen was so intense that it literally took his breath away. Mark trudged his suddenly weary bones toward the gatehouse to shower away the sweat and grime of the day's yard work. He stripped away the dirty clothes, tossing them in the hamper and turned the faucet in the shower to hottest temperature setting that he could stand and stepped under the spray. Thinking that he had simply pulled a muscle, he focused the stream of water on his sore back, shoulders and abdomen, hoping for some kind of relief.

While McCormick slaved away tending to the estate, Hardcastle was having a buzzard's luck catching any trout out in the quiet stream that was just a couple hundred yards from the bed and breakfast that was his temporary home until he left in a couple days. He had been standing in his hip waders in the ice-cold water since 4 a.m. using his lucky lures, wearing his lucky hat and was even wearing his lucky underwear but he still hadn't caught a thing. Giving his famous Hardcastle "harrumph", he decided to pack up his gear and call it a day. "There's still tomorrow to give it another go" he thought to himself as he meandered back to the cabin. Ever the optimist, the retired jurist mused, "Maybe, if I'm lucky, Gladys will be working in the kitchen tonight, she makes the mashed potatoes just the way I like 'em, nice and lumpy!" However, Lady Luck had taken a vacation herself, at the Judge's expense and Chester McCoy was on duty in the kitchen this evening and his idea of portion size and seasoning was as sparse as his hair. "Great, just great!" the Judge thought as he got a glimpse of Chester's face as the door of the kitchen swung open. After dinner, he was tempted to call and check on McCormick, but he talked himself out of it. "He's a big boy. He doesn't need me checking up on him", he thought as he dropped the phone's receiver back on the cradle, turned off the lamp next to the bed and turned on the TV. _Ooh! "Rio Bravo" is just starting! Maybe my luck is turning around, after all!_

Morning dawned on Gulls Way but a tired, grumpy McCormick wasn't aware of it until it was nearly noon. He sighed as he threw his covers off his body and swung his legs around so that he could crawl out of bed. The digital alarm clock next to his bed shone 11:18 am. He was awakened throughout the night with sharp pains in his abdomen and even had the misfortune of having to stagger out of bed to the tiny bathroom in the gatehouse to vomit but it was only dry heaves as he hadn't anything the day before. His sleep had been restless and filled with bad dreams which were a mix of his abusive childhood at the hands of his uncle and his life before it.

He had lived with his Uncle Dave after his mother died when he was ten and it was a culture shock. Although she worked two jobs to feed and care for her young son, she still always managed to spend time with him and make him feel loved. How he missed his mother! There had already been a hole in his heart when his father abandoned him on his fifth birthday but he truly cherished the time he had with his mom and after her death, the hole became a canyon. Donna McCormick died at the age of 34 and he had to live with Donna's brother David when no one else wanted to be "burdened" with the sad, sweet boy. The circumstances surrounding Mark's birth was a source of deep embarrassment to his strict Irish-Catholic family but Dave saw the boy as an nothing more than an additional check to help feed and care for his own family, courtesy of the state of New Jersey. Mark was never treated with the same love and compassion that his mother had for him, and was often the target of his uncle's rage after one of his alcohol-induced tirades.

Despite the horrible abuse and cruelty, Mark grew up to be a thoughtful and polite young man. Pensive by nature, Mark decided around the approach of his 30th birthday, a year ago last September, to seek out the absentee father that caused him to have his first taste of Hell. He used a private detective and even burglarized a county records building to find a modicum of information that would provide some insight into the whereabouts of his long-lost father. He finally had a solid lead and the day after his birthday, he hauled the Judge out to Atlantic City without an explanation. Like a good friend often does, Hardcastle accompanied him no questions asked but as soon as the plane touched down, the questions were non-stop. Mark never relented and the Judge found out the same time that lounge lizard Sonny Daye found out the reason they had flown all from California on a red-eye flight: Sonny Daye was Mark's estranged father. Looks of shock were etched across both men's faces as the truth was revealed in that shabby dressing room of the rundown club where Sonny Daye made his living as a third-rate singer.

All of those elements coalesced into a night of fitful dreams punctuated by Mark's screams of "no, please don't hit me anymore" and pains in his stomach and side that felt as though nails were being driven through them. A wave of dizziness and nausea swept over him again and he decided that he should take it easy today. Sure, Hardcase might be angry with him for not finishing his chores but he was way too miserable to care. He slowly plodded toward the bathroom and showered, toweled off and pulled on some grey sweats, a ratty navy blue t-shirt and white socks, turned on his stereo and plopped down on the sofa. A few minutes later, he fell into a light snooze as a soft rain started to fall, tapping on the windows. The music was interrupted by a weather bulletin. The announcer stated in a staccato tone of voice: "The National Weather Service had issued a severe thunderstorm watch for the area surrounding Los Angeles until 11pm tonight. Heavy rain and wind gusts up to 40 MPH are expected. Please stay tuned to this station as we will keep you advised as the storm moves closer and progresses. We now return you to your regular programming." Appropriately enough, the piano intro of "Against the Wind" by Bob Seger & the Silver Bullet Band started to play after the weather alert. The sleeping form on the sofa was oblivious to the announcement and slept for the next eight hours.

When he did awaken after his much needed nap, Mark stretched his long arms over his head and immediately let out a cry of agony as the pain in his side became even more pronounced. The pain was so intense that he doubled over and remained that way for several minutes. The branches from the trees slapped against the window as the wind howled and the rain slammed against the roof. McCormick gathered enough strength to stumble to the window and peer out at the mayhem Mother Nature was pouring out on what seemed to be the whole world. Another doozy of a pain brought him to his knees. The lights in the house started to flicker, so he crawled over to his fireplace, slowly pulled himself upright and lit the candles on the mantle and prayed that the storm would let up soon. Those were his last thoughts as his vision suddenly dimmed as he collapsed to the floor.

Judge Hardcastle also heard the same weather report and was torn between waiting the storm out and beating it. After more unsuccessful attempts at catching "the big one" he decided that maybe he should head home before the storm hit. He was also a bit concerned about McCormick because he could have sworn that his eyes looked a little red, as though he was coming down with a cold or something. "The kid eats everything that isn't nailed down, yet he's as thin as a rail. He's always catching colds, too. I'd better make sure he isn't sick", he thought. He mentally calculated, "it's 1:30pm now, it'll take almost six hours to get back to Malibu. I just may get there in time for some of McCormick's famous meatloaf!" Clapping his hands together, he hastily packed his bags and apologized to Mrs. Baker for his hasty retreat and then jumped into his truck to set out for home.

A knock on the door of the gatehouse went unanswered but the person on the other side of the door was resourceful. Using the skills he, too, had acquired from his criminal past, he carefully pulled his set of lock picks from his jacket pocket and jiggled it in the keyhole until he heard the tell-tale "snick" of the tumblers falling in the correct sequence to unlock the door. Sonny Daye peered around the nearly dark house and shook the rain from his clothes and his thick wavy hair. "Mark?" he called softly and tiptoed toward the inside of the house. He was stopped in his tracks by the sight of his son lying unconscious on the floor. "Mark! Mark! Speak to me, son!" Sonny cried as he hurried toward McCormick. He placed a hand on his son's neck and was startled by the heat that radiated from it. Then, he moved his hand from the man's neck to his forehead and cursed silently to himself. For a moment, Sonny was paralyzed with fear and indecision. Gathering his wits about him he ran toward the phone only to discover that the line was dead. A particularly violent roll of thunder shook the house but both men were oblivious to it because Mark was still unconscious and Sonny had not stopped shaking since discovering his only son sprawled on the floor. "Get a hold of yourself, Sonny" he said as found himself wishing that Hardcastle was here. "He'd know what to do! He always knows what to do", he thought to himself bitterly. He ran his nervous hands through his hair and paced back and forth in the sparsely decorated living room. Sonny cried out, "Son, you've got to wake up! I don't know what to do! I don't even know where the closest neighbor is around here!" Just when he was about to cascade into a full panic attack he heard a knock at the door and a familiar voice. "McCormick! Get your lazy butt up and let me in! It's raining cats and dogs out here!" the Judge shouted. Sonny ran toward the door and quickly let him in. "Sonny? What the hell are you doing here? Are you in some kind of trouble because if you are—"

Sonny cut the Judge off mid-rampage: "Judge! Judge! It's not me, it's Mark!"

Hardcastle looked over Sonny's shoulder and saw McCormick sprawled out on the floor in front of the fireplace and ran to his unconscious form. Holding Mark's face he pleaded, "Kiddo? What is it? What's wrong? Wake up, son!" He then turned to Sonny and shouted, "What the hell are you standing around looking stupid for? Call an ambulance! What did you do to him?"

"What do you mean 'what did I do to him'? He was like that when I came in! I just got here not that long ago and for your information, I already tried to call an ambulance but the phone is dead!"

"Well, we need to get him off the floor, for crying out loud! Get over here and make yourself useful, for once! Grab his legs and I'll get him by his shoulders and we'll put him on the sofa!"

"Why don't we just take him to the hospital? We're wasting time here!"

"I couldn't get down the road myself, Sonny. A couple trees fell down and there are power lines all over the place! I had to leave my truck down on the main road and hike the rest of the way!"

"Great! The kid could be dying here and there isn't a damn thing either one of us can do about it!"

The Judge thought the very same thing but he dared not to utter it. "Let's just get him off the floor for now. We'll figure out something. "

The two men struggled with McCormick's lifeless, fever-wracked body and eventually settled him on the couch.

"For a skinny guy, he sure is solid", Sonny grumbled as he straightened from his heavy lifting.

"I know. When I found him after being shot and thrown down that damn hillside, I was so happy that I tried to pick him up and carry him up the hill myself until I realized that he was 170 pounds of dead weight!" Hardcastle immediately regretted using the word "dead" in his description of McCormick. His mind drifted back to those terrifying hours a couple months ago when he wasn't sure where Mark was and whether or not the man who had wormed his way into his heart, becoming almost like another son, was dead. He shook his head as if to shake that moment out of his memory and turned to Sonny and said, "Go into the bathroom and wet some washcloths! He's burning up!"

Sonny was stunned at Hardcastle's statement about his only son being shot and left for dead and stood frozen in place. "My son's been shot before?"

"Yes, more than once I'm afraid. I'll explain later! Right now, get those towels and hurry!"

Sonny scurried to the bathroom to do as he was asked, no, ordered to do. His mind raced with all kinds of thoughts: "why didn't he tell me? My son could have died! Once we get Mark some help, Hardcastle and I are going to have a talk. He may be his _friend _but I will always be his father!" Sonny hastily and angrily soaked the cloths with cold water and wrung them out with more force than was necessary. Struggling to get his fear and anger under control, he quickly returned to the two men in the living room. "Here you go, Hardcastle", Sonny replied with a cold look in eyes that the Judge had never seen before.

Ignoring it for the moment, he gently placed one towel on McCormick's forehead and used the other to wipe at the man's sweat soaked neck and chest. "You're gonna be all right, Kiddo. I'm gonna take good care of you", Hardcastle reassured the sick man as he cast a withering glare at Sonny.

Mark became restless and began thrashing around while crying out "Please don't hit me anymore, Uncle Dave! My stomach hurts! I promise I'll be good, just please stop hitting me, please!"

Both men looked at each other at the same time with angry, disgusted and sad expressions flashing across their faces but each thinking completely different thoughts. Hardcastle wondered to himself, "My God! Did the kid's uncle beat him even when he was sick?" He vowed to look into the kid's files to find out whatever became of "Uncle Dave" and he would personally see to it that if the man was still alive he would answer for everything that he ever did to the kid growing up. Sonny's thoughts were more guilt-ridden. "Did I do this to my own son? I left him in the hands of a monster who felt that it was ok to beat a sick child? My God, what did I do to my son? What else happened to him because I wasn't there?" A sudden feeling of disgust with himself filled Sonny's soul and he vowed that he would somehow make amends to the son he left behind in New Jersey so long ago who was now back in his life.

The men turned their attention back to Mark for the moment and Hardcastle used a low, reassuring voice when he addressed him. "Your Uncle Dave is far away from you now. I won't let him or anyone else hurt you ever again. I promise." As he made the last comment, he looked in Sonny's direction, who couldn't bring himself to look the Judge in the eye. Instead, he dropped his sad brown eyes to an imperfection in the perfectly polished hardwood floor.

"Mark, can you tell me where it hurts?" the Judge asked.

In a brief lucid state Mark inquired, "Hardcase? What are you doing back? What day is it? Did you catch anything? I didn't get a chance to clean the pool or paint the fountain or—"

"Never mind that, where does it hurt, Mark?"

"I really must be bad off if you're calling me Mark." McCormick replied in a strained whisper.

"Yeah, son, where does it hurt?" Sonny pleaded as he strode back across the room to where his son lay.

Through clenched jaws Mark ground out, "Sonny? What the hell are you doing here? That must have been some storm to have blown you in all the way from Atlantic City!"

"Still the same smart-mouthed kid, I see. I came to see you, son. I missed ya, all right? Is that such a crime, a man missing his son?"

"With you, it usually is, Sonny", Hardcastle muttered to himself but it was louder than he thought.

"What's that supposed to mean, Hardcastle? You got a problem with me, let's hear it!"

The Judge stood up and got in Sonny's face, towering over him and growled. "Yeah, Sonny, I do, but now is not the time! Believe me, I have no problem telling you exactly what _my_ problem is with you."

"Stop it, both of you!" Mark shouted but that proved to be a mistake because the exertion from it sent another wave of pain through him so intense that made him shiver and then pass out again.

"McCormick! McCormick! He's passed out! Sonny, try the damn phone again!"

Sonny sprinted toward the phone on the bureau near the doorway but it was still dead. He held the phone in his hand as he looked at the Judge shaking his head.

"Damn! Sonny, grab some more towels and a thermometer, now! We've got to get this fever down!"

Pushing aside his guilt and his bruised ego, Sonny moved like a man half his age to help his son. The minutes ticked by slowly. The Judge returned his attention to his best friend, quietly pleading with him to hold on just a while longer. Moments later, Mark suddenly sat up, weaving and simply moaned the word "sick". Hardcastle nearly tripped over his feet as he hustled the nearby trashcan in front of McCormick but the only thing that this latest episode of nausea produced was more painful dry heaves. When Sonny returned with the requested supplies, Hardcastle gently shook Mark's shoulder saying, "Come on, Kiddo. Let me take your temperature." Mark groaned and mumbled "go 'way". "There's another more painful alternative for me to do this, kid, if you know what I mean" the Judge growled. Sensing the urgency of the present matter, Mark complied. The digital thermometer "beeped" and the readout indicated that his temperature was 103.6. "Damn" muttered Hardcastle.

While the Judge hovered over McCormick, Sonny paced back and forth. He had never been in this type of situation with Mark before which made Sonny feel utterly useless. His son was a grown man, yet he had never seen him so helpless, so sick. Thinking back to when Mark was born up until he packed up his things and deserted him on his fifth birthday, he shook his head as he realized that he had never said a comforting word to his son when he woke up from a nightmare, or was ill. He never even tucked him into bed at night, for that matter because he always left in the early evening to sing in one dive after another. "Chasing rainbows", he thought. Now, here he is, all these years later and he still couldn't bring himself to do it. How would Mark react if he tried it now? Would he turn him away and turn to Hardcastle? He had to try, he resolved. He stopped in his tracks, steeling himself he kneeled in front of the sofa, taking in the sight of his son. He awkwardly reached a hand out to touch his son's brow. Hardcastle took it as his cue to give the two men some privacy and started to shuffle toward the window to see if the storm had let up. Sonny looked up at the Judge and asked, "He's gonna be all right, isn't he?" He shrugged his shoulders, ran a hand over his careworn face and said, "I hope so, Sonny. I hope so."

After a couple more desperate hours of waiting, worrying and praying help finally arrived in the form of a dripping wet Lt. Frank Harper, LAPD banging on the front door. "Milt! Mark! Are you in there? Open up the damn door!" Hardcastle barreled past Sonny once again, and swung the front door of the gatehouse open with so much force, it bounced against the wall and nearly closed in Frank Harper's face.

"Frank! Thank God you're here!"

"What's wrong, Milt? A couple of my men saw your truck down on the main road and they radioed it in!"

"It's McCormick. Sonny and I found him lying on the floor burning up. He woke up long enough to say that it was his stomach and then he passed out. We gotta get him to the hospital, Frank! If anything ever happened to him, I don't—"

"Calm down, Milt! I'll radio it in. I'll call in a chopper if I have to, Milt, just please calm down, okay!" Frank paused to fully comprehend the rest of what Hardcastle had said: "Sonny is here? What the hell does he want?" he thought.

True to his word, Frank radioed for an ambulance. The roads had been cleared of most of the debris and power lines so that ambulances and other rescue vehicles could get through to assist anyone else in need of emergency assistance. Frank walked over to Mark and placed a hand on his cheek while both Sonny and Hardcastle were otherwise occupied. He would never admit it to anyone but his wife, Claudia that he, too had become fond of the kid. Who would have thought that a friendship between a car thief, make that an _ex_-car thief and a police lieutenant could ever be possible? However, throughout his longtime friendship with Judge Milton C. Hardcastle, he learned that almost anything is possible.

"Where the hell is that ambulance?"

"It should be here any minute. The roads are still kinda dicey, um, Sonny, right? We've haven't been formally introduced. I'm Lt. Frank Harper, LAPD." Frank couldn't help but notice the slight hesitation from Sonny when he introduced himself. In the man's defense, he probably spent more time trying to avoid the cops rather than being introduced to them.

"Sonny Daye! Pleased to meet 'cha! Have you ever been to Atlantic City? Great place. Maybe some time if ever ya decide to go, you can catch one of my shows but you gotta act fast: the tickets sell like hotcakes." Sonny flashed a 1000-watt smile and shook Frank's hand with such vigor it looked as though poor Frank would need to be in traction for a few days! The Judge watched the exchange from afar and shook his head. "I was wondering when the real Sonny Daye would be making an appearance" thought the Judge as he watched Frank massage his arm.

McCormick started to get restless again and started to moan and loll his head back and forth. "Mom, where are you? I can't find you! It's so dark!"

Fear gripped Hardcastle's heart and he swallowed the lump in his throat before he spoke to McCormick in the same tone he used earlier to calm the young man down. "McCormick? It's me, Hardcase. I'm here with you and the ambulance is on the way. You just gotta hang in there for me, okay? Can you do that for me? I need you hang on, help is coming." Hardcastle looked up from the gravely ill man on the sofa to the two men who were at a loss for words. "Frank, what's the ETA on the ambulance?"

"A couple minutes, Milt."

"God I hope so" whispered Sonny as he stood by helplessly as his only son hovered between life and death. He mentally kicked himself for being jealous of Hardcastle's closeness with Mark but he had gained a new respect for the man. Sonny knew that he didn't have what it took to hold bedside vigils and he silently thanked God that the old Judge did.

The sound of the ambulance's sirens broke everyone from their reverie and Sonny ran outside to flag them over to the gatehouse. The attendants quickly and efficiently transferred Mark from the sofa to the gurney all the while hooking up and monitors. The three men cleared out of the way while McCormick was wheeled toward the waiting ambulance. Hardcastle was about to climb into the back of it but he stopped himself and turned to Sonny and asked, "Do you want to ride in with him?"

Sonny's first impulse was to say "you're damn right I do, old man" but he hesitated. Instead his response was, "no you go ahead, Judge."

With a grateful smile, Hardcastle climbed into the emergency vehicle and clasped Mark's hand. The attendant closed the back doors and gave them a slap to signal to the driver that everything was secure and they sped off into the night. Sonny walked back toward the gatehouse with his hands in his pockets and said to Harper, "that's my kid in that ambulance! What can I say? I left him and his mother on his fifth birthday! I'm a bum. I can admit it, but I'm sure Hardcastle told you that much about me, anyway." Sonny shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair.

Frank put a hand on Sonny's shoulder, looked him in the eye and said in a low voice, "Let's lock up here and go see your son."

The look of gratitude that washed over Sonny's face stunned Harper. He quickly recovered and slipped back into police officer mode, blew out the candles and walked Sonny toward the door. At that precise moment, the lights came back on. "A sign. A good sign" Sonny thought as they hurried toward Frank's unmarked car.

At the hospital, Hardcastle paced back and forth as he waited for somebody, anybody to tell him how McCormick was doing. _That __boy __means __everything __to __me. __Ever __since __Tommy __died, __no __one __has __ever __been __that __close __to __me __and __I __don__'__t __know __if __I __can __take __it __again._ He was overwhelmed by the emotions that came flooding back when he thought of the day he looked out the window of his den and saw the army officials taking deliberate steps toward his door to tell him that his only son had been killed in Vietnam. He also thought of the day a few years ago when he had told McCormick that he was no replacement for his beloved son. The look of hurt that appeared briefly in Mark's eyes made the Judge wince. _How could I have been so cruel? _All McCormick wanted to do was express his sorrow at the news of hearing that he had had a son that died. That seemed to be the nature of their relationship: never getting mushy. Not getting carried away with sentiment._ Why? Because it hurt too much?_ Tonight had revealed that Mark had seen his share of pain and hurt in his life as well. Maybe, after all of this is over, he would try to tell McCormick how much he truly meant to him. _That is, if I have the chance._ _Stop __it ,__Milt!__The __kid __is __gonna __be __all __right! __He__'__s __young __and __he__'__s __strong. __But __he__'__s __so __damn __skinny! __He __can__'__t __afford __to __miss __any __meals! __What __if __Sonny __or __I __hadn__'__t __decided __to __drop __in __on __him __when __we __did?_ Hardcastle chastised himself for allowing such morbidity to enter his mind. He tried to occupy his mind while he waited on news about Mark. He picked up a magazine and thumbed through it and then he slammed it back down on the table. He just didn't give a damn about the latest diet that some already too thin actress was following to lose even more weight. All it did was make him think of Mark all over again. _When __he __gets __out __of __this __place, __I__'__m __gonna __see __to __it __that __he __gains __at __least __15 __pounds!_ With a new-found resolve, Hardcastle waited for the words that he so desperately wanted to hear; that Mark McCormick will be ok.

Although about 45 minutes had passed, those words still had not come. However, Hardcastle did see Sonny and Frank striding across the waiting room in his direction. "Have you heard anything?" both Sonny and Frank asked at the same time.

"Not yet" Milt sighed. "It's been long enough as far as I'm concerned and I'm gonna find somebody in this damned place who'll tell me he's gonna be ok!"

Just as he was about to turn the entire hospital inside out he heard a sweet voice. "Mr. Hardcastle?"

The voice belonged to Dr. Tania Gardner, according to the nametag attached to her lab coat. She was tall and willowy with large, doe eyes and skin the color of mocha. Her hair was pulled up in a bun to reveal even more of her angelic face. She smiled as she greeted the men in the room who were so wound up that she feared that they would be her next patients!

"Yeah, that's me! How's McCormick doing? Is he all right? When can we see him?"

"Let her talk, Milt", Frank reassured his friend.

"I just wanted to let you know that Mr. McCormick is being prepped for surgery."

"Surgery?" three voices exclaimed in unison.

Dr. Gardner continued her explanation with a look that was a mix of compassion and being well- accustomed to emotional outbursts from concerned loved ones of patients. She could tell by the anxious looks on the faces of the men surrounding her that the man on his way to the O.R. has plenty of people in his life concerned about him. "He's under sedation right now but he will be transported to the O.R. in a few minutes."

Sonny spoke up before the others could, "What's wrong with my son?"

"Your son? I was under the impression that he had no immediate family. Mr. Hardcastle is listed as his emergency contact."

Hardcastle was in no mood to quibble over who had the 'right' to be told about what's wrong with McCormick first. He just wanted, needed to know what the hell was going on. "Doctor, what's wrong with McCormick? When his father and I found him, he was lying on the floor and complaining about his stomach hurting." A light came on in the Judge's mind and he asked, "Is it his appendix?"

"I'm afraid so and it's worse than that: they've burst. We need to get him to surgery before the infection spreads into his bloodstream. We're going to do all we can to save him, please know that, and although it's asking the impossible: try not to worry. He's young and he's strong and he has a good chance."

"Doc, I'm a gambling man so I need to know, what are his chances of coming out this thing alive?" Sonny surprised everyone including himself at his concern for Mark.

"I'll be honest with you, your son is in critical condition, and I don't like to speculate on things such as this but we are doing everything we can to save your son. I know that's probably not what you want to hear, Mr.?"

"Daye" Sonny supplied.

"Uh yes, Mr. Daye, but right now, that's the best I can do." With that, she bid everyone a hasty farewell and promised to keep them posted on Mark's condition.

"Uh, Judge. Why don't you go on home. I'll call whenever I hear something."

"Sonny, I am not leaving this spot until they tell me that my boy-" Hardcastle, stunned at his slip recovered and went on to say, "that Mark is going to be ok."

Instead of feeling threatened, Sonny was relieved. He had no right to be envious of the relationship between the Judge and Mark. He had to admit, Hardcastle had been a better father to him than he had ever been. How could he just stroll in and pull the "father card" now?

Harper spoke up and said, "I'm gonna go home and check on Claudia. Besides, you know how she feels about Mark and this isn't something that I should break to her over the phone. Call me when you find out how he's doing, Milt. All right?"

Hardcastle stood up and wiped a hand across his face and shook Frank's hand. "Thanks, Frank. We owe you one. I'll be sure to call you as soon as I hear something."

The two fathers, biological and surrogate, waited and waited until nearly three hours later the doors to the waiting room swung open. "Mr. Hardcastle, Mr. Daye?"

"Yes, doctor?" Sonny spat out as he nearly tripped trying to meet her at the door.

"Your son is going to be fine. He gave us a scare a couple times but he finally cooperated with us and we were able to remove the ruptured appendix, wash his abdominal cavity and pump him full of antibiotics. Depending on how his body responds to them, he should be on his way to a full recovery in a few days."

Hardcastle and Sonny's faces almost split open from the sudden smiles the two men were wearing after hearing the news that Mark was going to be ok. Milt rushed to the phone to tell Frank and Claudia the news while Sonny asked the doctor when they could see him.

"He's in recovery right now. According to his medical records, your son often has difficulty coming around from the anesthesia but you and Mr. Hardcastle can see him in about an hour. I'll make sure that a nurse comes and gets you both."

"Thank you, Doctor! Thank you so much!" Sonny hugged her and she laughed. However, he couldn't help but wonder how many times this scene had played out for Mark before; the waiting and praying, the uncertainty.

"You're welcome, Mr. Daye. I'd much rather deliver news like this, anytime!" She then turned and walked out of the room and left the two men to rejoice over the news Mark would be just fine.

An hour later, as promised, a nurse came to the waiting room and addressed the two of them. "Mr. McCormick is settled in his room now. He's in room 514. Just take those elevators down the hall on the left to the fifth floor."

"Thank you" both men replied as they rushed toward the bank of elevators that would take them to the person they wanted to see the most. After seemingly endless stops on every floor between the waiting room and five, they finally reached their destination. They approached the door and cautiously opened it, stepping inside. Sonny was speechless when he saw his son's nearly motionless body attached to all the wires and monitors that were aiding in his recovery. He had never seen Mark so still. The only movement that he saw was the gentle rise and fall of his chest. "He's breathing, Sonny, that's a good thing, you know" he reassured himself as he walked toward Mark's bed and placed a hand on his still fevered brow. The Judge sensed that Sonny needed some time alone with his son and told him that he would step out. Sonny stopped him before he could leave with the words, "please stay, Judge, you belong here just as much as I do, if not more." He continued to caress his son's face, stroking his hair, and spoke to him in a soft voice. "You know, you have your mother's eyes. Deep blue like the ocean, I'd always say. It hit me the moment you told me who you were in that crummy dressing room in Atlantic City." Hesitating for a moment, he continued on. "She was a good woman, Mark. She didn't deserve a clown like me and neither did you." Sonny paused again to clear the lump in his throat and choked out the words, "I love you, son. I know I wasn't there for you when you needed me the most and I'm sorry. I know I can't change the past but, I'd like to make a fresh start. You know, try again? I know that's asking a lot of you but I need you, son. You're all I have left that means anything to me in this world." He leaned over and planted a kiss on Mark's forehead, ruffled his sweat-soaked curls and shuffled toward the door. Before he departed he said, "Thanks, Judge, for taking care of my boy."

Hardcastle, overcome with emotion himself, turned his head toward the wall to hide the tear that formed in his own eyes. He gained his composure and replied, "It's been my pleasure, Sonny, my pleasure" and slapped him on the back. After Sonny left, he pulled up a chair and began his monologue with McCormick. "Hey Kiddo, looks like I'm assuming my usual position with you. You know, you have got to start taking better care of yourself, ok? I know, I know, this isn't your fault but admit it, you weren't feeling all that hot before I left, were you?" The man in the hospital bed was still unconscious and didn't so much as blink in response to the lecture he was getting from the man sitting next to him. "Oh, McCormick. What am I going to do with you?" He sighed. It suddenly dawned on him that the only time that they had these little heart-to-heart talks was when one of them was lying on a sick bed. Damn. "Kid, when you get out of here, you, Sonny and I are going to have a talk 'cuz I'm getting too old for this crap!" He chuckled and ruffled McCormick's hair and settled in for the night, knowing that his boy was going to be ok.


End file.
